


Sweetheart

by Lexebug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bulges and Nooks, Cunnilingus, Hand Feeding, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Dave Strider, Voyeurism, a tiny bit of slut shaming dirty talk but it’s very brief, i guess?? Kind of???, lil bit of dirty talk, this is just some good wholesome johndavekat pornography folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexebug/pseuds/Lexebug
Summary: Read the tags fuckos this is some grade-a porn right here





	Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> title sucks ik anyway this is VERY self indulgent but that’s never stopped me before

Dave shakes him awake at 9 am sharp, and John blinks blearily at him. “Wha’s going on?” He mumbles, head still fuzzy with sleep. Karkat rolls over on the other side of him, kicking him in the small of his back. 

“Get up,” Dave says, softly, like John’s still not awake. “Today’s the day, sweetheart.” John feels Karkat roll out of bed on his left, and his face emerges next to Dave’s in a second.

Oh. OH. Karkat’s grinning at him like a cheetah watching a particularly delectable antelope. Or whatever it is cheetahs eat. “I think it’s breakfast time, isn’t it, Dave?” Karkat asks, his voice low and rough with sleep. Dave nods, and pushes John’s glasses onto his face, from wherever he got them. 

They’re walking out of the room before John can comprehend what’s going on. Dave turns back and smiles at him, and says “Wear something you don’t like, because it’s getting destroyed.” He nods, still too tired to bridge the gap between eager and confused.

It wasn’t like John had never done any stuff like this. It was just. Well, normally he was the one doing stuff. Now, he was going to be having stuff done to him. He had asked for stuff to be done to him, specifically. 

He changes out of his pajamas into a pair of old sleep pants and a too-big t-shirt from a cheap cave tour they went to a few years back; it announces “I SURVIVED MYSTERY CRYSTAL CAVERNS” on the front. He won’t miss it after whatever Dave is planning. 

Normally, breakfast isn’t a big deal in the Strider-Egbert-Vantas house, because they all have different schedules, trips between the kingdoms, and various other events to attend at different times. There’s always cereal in the cabinet, and whoever wakes up first will sometimes write notes on the whiteboard on the fridge, either a good morning message or a list of groceries someone has to pick up. 

Today, John steps out into the kitchen to see a plate of pancakes, a bowl of assorted fruit, glasses of juice, and a half-empty syrup bottle. Dave and Karkat are sitting across from each other, chatting quietly while they eat. Karkat catches his eye when he steps in and beckons him over.

When John goes to sit at the table, though, Karkat sneers and shakes his head. “Is that really where you belong?” He asks, snarky, and John’s breath catches the tiniest bit. He looks to Dave, for-reassurance? Permission? He’s not sure-and he nods, pointing to the floor. 

Slowly, he sinks down to the floor until he’s sitting back on his heels, socks sliding on the wooden floor a little bit. Karkat smiles, croons a compliment to him, and then turns away. Completely ignoring him. What the fuck? He’s just talking to Dave again, both of them pretending like their boyfriend isn’t kneeling on the kitchen floor while they eat a decadent breakfast WITHOUT HIM. 

A sharp poke to Karkat’s ribs does nothing. Another poke gets him a glare, and a shove with his socked foot. A third jab gets Karkat’s eyes on him, and John grins expectantly. An explanation, maybe. At least a pancake. Instead, Karkat makes a tutting sound and shakes his head. “Good boys are patient, aren’t they, Dave?” Dave agrees from across the table through a mouthful of pancake. Lucky bastard. Karkat’s glare is cutting through John’s skin, and he shrinks, hunching his shoulders into himself.

Karkat goes back to his food, but there’s a hand on John’s head now, running through his hair and scraping nails softly along his scalp. He’s content with that. It’s better than no attention at all. And Karkat is really, really good at playing with his hair. It’s relaxing, having fingers carding through his hair gently while his boyfriends converse in the background of his hearing. Isn’t he supposed to be getting into the right kind of headspace, anyway? He just wishes they would give him some food, he’s fucking starving. 

As if on cue, his stomach makes a sound like a particularly angry animal being stepped on. Karkat’s hand freezes in his hair, and John can hear him stifling a laugh. “Karkat, goodness,” Dave exclaims in a fake-dramatic tone, “We forgot to feed him! Would you do it, sweetheart?” 

“Of course, dear,” Karkat says, his voice dripping with stage drama. John opens his eyes when Karkat’s hand leaves his head, and then there’s a plate scraping across the table. “Open up!” Karkat says brightly, and there’s a strawberry in his fingers. 

“Um,” John tries to say, but before he can get the word out the fruit is in his mouth, cold from the fridge, and, oh, sweet, Dave put brown sugar on it. It’s pretty good, actually. Karkat’s nodding approvingly, and he grabs another piece of fruit. This time, his fingers go in John’s mouth with it, and John makes a confused noise in the back of his throat before he tries to bite down on the chunk of pineapple without biting Karkat’s fingers. It’s a bit of a challenge, actually, but he manages. 

Juice dribbles down his chin, sticky on his face and neck when Karkat pulls back, crooning praise to him and tracing the shell of his ear with his other hand. Still not entirely sure what’s going on, but very, very hungry, John opens his mouth again, a silent invitation. Karkat’s face lights up. 

The rest of breakfast continues like that, with Karkat taking breaks to eat his own food, then hand-feeding John fruit and pieces of pancake while he murmurs compliments. When Dave stands up, he turns to John and smiles softly. “Karkat’s hand is probably sticky. Clean him up, will you?” John nods, maybe a little too eager, but Dave’s moving over to him, crouching beside him with a hand in his hair. “Open up, baby,” he says, almost an order but not quite, and John lets Karkat’s first two fingers slide into his mouth.

Sticky-sweet with juice, they pet along the back of his tongue, but John’s sucked enough dick (and bulge) to suppress a gag. His eyes flutter closed, closing his mouth around the fingers and letting Karkat explore along the ridges of his teeth, the inside of his cheek. He switches to the other two fingers, smears John’s own spit all over his face and lips. It’s gross. It should be gross. John lets him. Licks a stripe up the palm of his hand when Karkat pulls his fingers out. 

“Good boy,” Dave tells him when he’s done, and John grins. “C’mon, living room.” He moves to get up, but Dave shakes his head roughly, shoves him back down with the heel of his hand. “You stay on the floor,” he says, and this time it’s definitely an order. Dave leaves, doesn’t spare them a backward glance. Karkat comes to John’s side, wipes fruit juice off his face and chin with a soft, damp cloth. He asks John to come to the living room with him, voice sweet.

He crawls after Karkat on the floor into the carpeted living room. Karkat looks ecstatic. He settles on the couch next to Dave, and John crouches on the floor in between them. Dave’s got a movie playing, and he doesn’t even acknowledge that they’ve joined him. 

They sit in silence, Karkat’s fingers gently petting through John’s hair until he’s completely relaxed, head thumping back against the couch and a pleased hum running through his bones. It’s not sexy so much as it is calming. He feels like he’s going to fall asleep. His head rolls over to rest on Karkat’s thigh, warm and solid against his cheek. 

He’s just starting to doze off properly when there’s a sharp metallic sound, and Karkat laughs quietly, tugs him up gently by his hair. John blinks sleepily at the sound, and Dave snips a pair of safety scissors in the air. “Oh Johnny boy, I’ve got a job for you, alright?” He opens his legs, pats the couch in between his thighs. John crawls over and sits, eyes firmly trained on Dave’s stomach so he doesn’t have to see the hungry smile on his face. 

Dave’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently pushing him to face the other direction. “Pants off,” he orders when John’s turned around. “You tell me your color when I ask, or when Karkat asks. You say red, this all stops, and we go back to normal and talk it out, okay?” John nods, and there’s a hand on his upper back, the cold metal of the scissors just above the elastic of his briefs. It sends a nervous thrill dancing up his spine. 

The shirt cuts easily, and John shivers, presses his hips back when Dave pushes against him. “Hands behind your back. Wrists together.” The shirt slides off of him and Dave pulls it into his own lap. John sits and fidgets impatiently, wrists pressed together, while behind him Dave cuts something, presumably the shirt. 

“Okay. Gonna tie you up now, mmkay?” Dave announces, clicks his tongue obnoxiously and rearranges John’s wrists a little bit. Long strips of what used to be a t-shirt wrap around his arms, his wrists; Dave slips them between his fingers and ties it off, tightly. “Good? Not too tight?” John flexes his fingers, then nods. “Good boy,” Dave purrs, and he swivels him around, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“So, any requests, Karkat?” Dave asks, and John turns to see Karkat flushed red to the base of his horns, his nails digging into the couch cushion in either side of him. He looks like he’s the one about to get fucked, not John. Jesus, nothing’s even happened yet. He’s like a sex lightweight instead of an alcohol one. Actually, he’s an alcohol one too. Soft underneath all his outer anger. 

Karkat clears his throat, roughly. “I-I want him to get you off.” Dave hums thoughtfully, runs an absent hand through John’s hair. 

“How? How do you want him to do it, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice dripping with sweetness. The hand in John’s hair tugs him upwards, makes him look Karkat in his eyes. 

Karkat swallows heavily, audibly. “His mouth. I wanna see him use his mouth.” Dave nods, a haughty, approving tilt to his head. Karkat’s heavy gaze doesn’t leave John’s face.

“How about it, Johnny boy? You wanna suck me off?” Dave’s hands are already edging his briefs down, inch by inch. John nods, because fuck, does he ever. Fingers trace over his jaw, his hair, the back of his neck. “Hmm, you wanna suck my cock like a good little slut?” John barely even notices he’s hard because Dave’s briefs are off, and holy shit, he’s so wet they almost stick to his junk on the way down. He’s practically dripping. 

Karkat makes a pained, impatient noise, and John realizes he’s just been staring vacantly, mouth dropped open. Dave yanks at his hair insistently, but he resists, because maybe he’ll do the thing John had asked for. God, he hopes he will. Dave gives him a Look, clearly asking a silent question, and his open-mouthed, pleading face must give him away, because Dave tightens his fingers in his hair and shoves John’s face into his crotch, grinds his hips against where John’s nose is smashed into his cunt, sloppy and messy and absolutely degrading. 

John’s moaning, open-mouthed, and Dave’s hands fist in the hair at the back of his scalp as he adjusts his angle, presses harder against his face, his tongue. He doesn’t even seem to care that John’s teeth are probably scraping his dick, just letting him lay still for Dave to fuck up against his mouth. 

It’s hot, unfairly so, and John strains against the scraps of the shirt tying him in place. Realistically, they’re pretty weak; he could break them. Probably pretty easily, actually. But he doesn’t want to, because Dave might stop, and even if the thought that he could break out if he needs to is comforting, he doesn’t want to. It’s just nice to know. It would be pretty damn nice to touch Dave, though. Or Karkat. Or both, ideally. 

The pace slows down after a few minutes, Dave’s hips settling to a slow, steady roll against John’s mouth. He’s got a little more control, but not a lot. Just enough to press the flat of his tongue against his folds, revel in the way Dave’s moans break when he presses his clit against John’s upper lip. Karkat makes a distressed sound, croaks out, “Dave, can I-“ 

Dave pulls John back with a wet sound, and fuck, his face is dripping with wetness. It’s disgusting. He loves it. Karkat’s whining on every exhale, and John turns to see him with a hand down his pants but not moving, his entire face tight with concentration, brows furrowed, his eyes almost closed but not quite. “C’mon, Dave, just-“ he gets out through his hitching breaths, every line of his face etched with some kind of feral want. 

Dave’s face melts, and he makes a soft kind of clucking sound under his breath. “C’mere, pretty boy,” he coos, and Karkat shoves his pants off, bulge bright red and writhing in the open air. He tumbles into Dave in a sloppy kiss, all open mouth and tongue and fangs. One hand grabs behind Dave’s neck like a vice, the other reaching down to tangle with his bulge. 

John’s entranced for a moment, watching the way his partner’s faces fit together like puzzle pieces, a puzzle where Dave’s tongue licks into Karkat’s mouth and where Karkat _writhes_ and clutches at the back of his neck, and somehow it fits, a perfect picture. John suddenly wishes he could paint, because if he could, he’d capture this moment the way other masters captured landscapes or beautiful women. Wouldn’t it be weird if his pseudo-pornography of his two boyfriends ended up in a museum with a bunch of Monets. Hand painted alien porn. Sweet. 

Then Dave pauses for a second, turns to face John. “Did I say you could stop?” He asks, tone biting, and John sucks a breath in through his teeth, shakes his head. “Then get on with it.” Dave goes back to Karkat, but not before he’d shoved John forward with his foot, made sure he was actually going to do what he was told.

John gets on with it. Listens to the sounds Karkat makes (always so loud all the damn time), and licks Dave open until he’s dripping, until John’s face is practically drenched. He wishes he could use his hands. But they want him tied. He can be tied.

John leans in, further, till all his senses are filled with Dave, his thighs clenching on John’s head when he presses into his hole, licks up his inner thighs, presses the flat of his tongue against Dave’s cock. Suddenly there’s a leg shoved in between his where he’s kneeling, blocking his view a little, but Dave’s shin is pressing against his aching cock through his boxers, and he’s so suddenly reminded of how painfully hard he is. 

He has to tilt his head at a weird angle to get at Dave’s junk again, but the offset of being able to press his hips up against Dave’s leg is so, so worth it, sharp, sudden desperation arching inside of him. Neither of them is even touching him, barely even paying attention to him except for giving him a dick to suck and a leg to fuck up against. It’s fucking humiliating. They’re completely wrapped up in each other, Dave’s hand between Karkat’s legs, three fingers deep in his nook now, and neither of them is even acknowledging him. It’s unbearably fucking hot. He’s so close already, hips rutting against Dave’s shin almost out of his control.

Dave’s hips jerk forward, fucking against John’s face again, and then he’s leaning into Karkat’s shoulder as he cums, moaning so loud John is sure the neighbors will hear. Finally he looks down, not even breaking pace as he fucks Karkat, stares John right in the face with a gaze way too powerful for someone who just jizzed on his face. “Don’t you dare cum,” he hisses, and John keens, distantly feels tears stinging behind his eyes. 

Dave pulls his leg away, grabs John’s face with one hand, squeezes his cheeks. There’s tears dripping down his face, and he’s sniffling softly. “Color?” He asks, his voice still hard, still cold, but his eyes impossibly soft. 

“Green, green, Davey _please_ ,” John begs, and he never uses that nickname except in amazingly special situations. Dave _beams_ , releases his face and wipes his sticky, red fingers on John’s bare chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers, and it’s really a full-blown whimper at this point. He’s aching for some kind of release. It’s pathetic. He sounds pathetic. It makes him want it more.

“On your back,” Dave orders, pushes him down with two fingers. John goes down easy, arching his back so he won’t put pressure on his wrists, cock bobbing in the air as his hips shudder. “You’re gonna fuck Karkat, and you’re not gonna cum until he does. Got it?” John nods, tears still leaking from his eyes, sniffles a little bit. Dave pats him lovingly on the face. “Good boy.” John cracks a broken, desperate smile as Dave ever-so-gently slides his boxers down his thighs, and it stings when he laughs at how hard John is. 

Dave helps Karkat down on shaking legs until he’s kneeling over John’s hips, breath coming too too fast. “You don’t kiss him until he cums. He’s gonna do it inside you, is that alright, baby?” Karkat nods, makes a broken little sound into the air. His bulge is already trying to wrap around John’s dick, and Dave coaxes it off, tangles it in his own hand, and guides Karkat down until he’s fully seated on John’s hips.

John’s fucked Karkat before, of course he has, but somehow it’s like the first time again, overwhelmingly warm and tight and wet around him. He whines, tries to push his hips up and Karkat moans, his bulge lashing, but Dave pushes down on John’s pelvis, keeps him in place. “He rides you, and you don’t move, or you don’t cum. Got it, baby?” He murmurs, and John sobs, nods, forces himself to stay still. 

Karkat’s achingly warm, dripping red onto his hips and thighs and cock, and it’s taking everything in him to keep John from fucking up into him. He’s close, way, way too close for the way Karkat’s moaning and writhing on top of him, bulge lashing in the air wildly.

Dave crawls over, crouches next to John’s face and strokes his fingers through the wetness on his face, his cheeks, the tears and the slick, cooing softly to him. Then Karkat’s gasping brokenly, bulge curling in on itself as he cums, flooding John’s pelvis with candy-red jizz, and Dave lights up, a smile breaking on his face like a sunrise. “Remember what that means, John?” 

By the time Dave’s finishing his sentence it’s already too late, John’s gritting his teeth as he spills into Karkat, a half-sound coming out of his mouth followed by Karkat’s broken moan. Dave shudders, full-body, running open palms up John’s chest, over his stomach, squeezing at his hips until he moves up Karkat’s trembling thighs, gently pulls him off of John and draws him aside. “One of you had better fuck me right the hell now, or I’m gonna go apeshit,” Dave mumbles , and for once he sounds just as wrecked as either of them. 

“Fucking-fuck, come here, come here, you dumb fucking fucker,” Karkat grits out, hilariously incoherent, and Dave tumbles into him, kisses along his neck while Karkat fingers him, bulge slipping back into-wherever bulges go when trolls cum; troll anatomy is still kind of a mystery most days. 

Dave finishes in an almost astounding amount of time, maybe three minutes, and then collapses forward to pant against his shoulder. Karkat pulls him over to hold him close while he unties John’s wrists, kisses John on the nose and pulls him upright. “C’mon. Shower. All of you, you’re fucking disgusting,” Karkat says, gathers the two of them together to shuffle into the bathroom. 

The shower’s hot, and Dave murmurs sleepily about turning it hotter, but doesn’t complain when nobody turns up the temperature, and lets John rub shampoo into his hair and swipe a washcloth over his thighs. Taking a shower with three people who are all sitting is difficult, but they manage. It seems to be a silent but unanimous decision that standing is far too much effort at the moment. 

They stumble out, the three of them, and practically fall into the bedroom. Dave slides his binder back on but refuses to put on pants, and Karkat just shrugs and collapses on the bed, throwing an arm around Dave’s shoulders. John slides in between them, wiggles into place until Dave’s at his back and Karkat’s chin is resting on top of his head. It’s warm and soft and perfect, even if there’s still cum drying on John’s inner thighs that didn’t quite get scrubbed away. Dave presses a sleepy kiss to the back of his neck and murmurs a thank you. 

John is so making them do this again.


End file.
